Death's Child
by Ellaspen Frost
Summary: A tragic night strikes and a child dies. What no one expected was for her to be resurrected as the Spirit of Death. Pitch tries to sway the powerful girl to his side but her hatred for the world runs deeper than he knows or can even control. Even the Nightmare King himself isn't safe. Will they be able to tame the child's unnatural hate or will she bring upon the Age of Death?
1. Prologue

_She stood upon the chair…_

Her eyes remained locked on the moon that sat outside the barred window. It gazed upon her, almost in a pitying manner. How young for someone to think such dark thoughts, to do such dark things. For so long, she had sat in the dark of the room with the _hope_ that someone would come for her. It hadn't taken her long to realize that no such thing would happen. No one would care about such a filthy useless brat like her anyways. That's what the voices that haunted her mind whispered every night. Hope was a stupid wish for the weak of heart. She knew that now. All it ever did was bring the pain back around and hit her ten times harder then before. It was painful to realize that she was only fooling herself into thinking someone loved her and would want to come rescue her.

 _She fastened the rope around her neck…_

It was a shame that things had to end this way. If only the _wonder_ of the world before could save her from this fate. Her crystal blue eyes were glazed over like newly cut glass and framed by a pale face and long filthy blond hair that ran all the way down to her waist, curling at the tips. Those eyes used to be filled with such wonder and ablaze with curiosity. That is, until she realized the world wasn't quite as wondrous as she had originally been so naïve to think. She knew the truth now of what the world truly was. They'd be coming again; the men who kidnapped her and brought her to this place. They came every day and hurt her, though she didn't know what to call it. She didn't like it. It made her feel dirty and worthless inside. They said that she was never going back. That she couldn't escape. Oh, how she was going to prove them wrong!

 _She jumped…_

Immediately, the rope constricted around her neck but she paid no mind to it. The pain was almost like a phantom sensation. Like a distant reality that she couldn't see because the _dream_ was too strong. They were horrid and illusive things that she'd often had. It was more heartbreaking to have such light in her heart, only to wake up and realize that it was only a temporary distraction from the _nightmare_ that her life had become. How beautiful a lie it was, giving her such a false sense of security.

 _She choked…_

The worst part was, she knew this was coming all along no matter how she tried to deny her fate. The _memory_ of her family was overshadowed by the horrid memories of the time in which she'd been used. If her mind had been simply erased, she would've been more at peace. The bad memories remind her of what they did but the happy memories are worse. They remind her of what she used to have. All the happiness and joy that used to filled her spirit. The loving and caring family she had before they passed on and she was left with her Aunt and Uncle. That was the upside to this. She was going to see her Mama and Papa soon.

 _She smiled…_

The small child thought back upon the men who had, ever so foolishly, stated that she would never escape them. She was going to prove them wrong. Her only regret was not being there to see the looks on their faces. She wanted to be there to give them a smug look. Her determination, after all, was likely to catch them by surprise. It would be _fun,_ like when she used to be beaten after school and the teacher would come and catch the bullies. Fun was something she hadn't had in a long time and recently she began to assume she'd never have it again. What ultimately made her feel so terrible was that she was enjoying every moment of her demise. It was a bittersweet sensation and she was craving it. The smile remained on her face as she stared at the moon, welcoming death to cover her like a blanket.

 _She died…_


	2. Death's Accomplice

**Author's Note: Thank you to the people who commented, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :3**

 **theAMB: Yeah... I have a habit of writing sad things really well o_o That's sounds wrong but its true X3**

 **Anon: Thank you :3 Glad to know my work has a disturbing side to it X) It'll have it's moments but for the most part, this is going to be a little dark.**

 **The Silvernote: Updated! And thank you :) There will actually be some longer chapters after that one. It was just to kick start the story.**

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Eyes stared sadly upon the figure that limply hung there, swaying back and forth. How cruel the world can be. Even more so, how cruel he can be. Manny knew that what he was about to do, would go against little Ivory's wishes. Would make everything she just did meaningless. He was going to do something far crueler than she had done to herself… He was going to drag her right back into the world. He was going to drag her back into the Hell that she was so desperate to escape from. He was going to trap her there. She would have to face the universe alone and unable to pass on for as long as time continued it's merciless flow.

Why, you may ask, would Manny do such a thing to an innocent child who had already been through more than most? Answer, he wouldn't. Not by choice. For years, death has been an essence looming over everyone. It's been one of the few things that you couldn't get rid of no matter how badly you desired to. One of the few things you cannot conquer or tame. However, it does have an important purpose. Helps people pass on, keeps them from living a miserable life when their time is up. Problem is that it has been serving it's purpose for so long. Death is lonely, tired, and losing the will to continue such a path. It wants a companion. It _needs_ a companion, despite how badly it will torture them.

It couldn't be just any companion though. No, death is a finicky and merciless essence that requires a special type of person to wield it. As was proof of the Dark Ages, death cannot just hand over it's power to anybody. The only one able to tame death is someone who _knows_ death, desires it even. Someone with enough innocence and heart to carry on without abusing such a power. Unfortunately, little Ivory was the only one to have been through all that was required and still desire death.

Poor child, doomed to never be at peace. Doomed to never touch another living soul unless it is their time to leave. How horrid it is, and yet, it must be done. With regretful eyes, Manny worked his magic, a glowing purple and blue faded light enveloping the child. Her pale skin was illuminated by the light as it surrounded her. This resurrection would not be quite the same as other spirit's. Spirits may be unable to age but that does not mean they are immune to death's clutches. This child, will defy that.

The rope creaked under the pressure before finally, as if someone had slashed a sword through it, the rope snapped. Instead of letting the child fall to the ground however, the magic caught her, held her and tried to comfort her small form. After a few moments, the light faded and the child was left on the floor, somehow holding her own weight as she sat there. Her skin had gone incredibly pale, so much so that one would think she was sick.

' _tick… tock… tick… tock…_ '

The clock's relentless little chimes were the first thing to be heard. The next thing that reached the little girl's senses, was the lingering cold that was biting at her skin, making it numb. For a few moments, she continued to sit there, unmoving, as though she were a lifeless puppet waiting for the strings to be pulled. She had no will to move but then, slowly, her eye lids lifted and a pair of sapphire irises pierced through the darkness of the room like a knife. They were sharp, her pupils so small that they were almost no more than black pinpricks in an ocean of blue.

' _tick… tock… tick… tock…_ '

Her sharp eyes rolled to the side in search of the clock that had disturbed her deep sleep but it was no where to be found. Just her… and one inch thick rope woven together tossed around the floor. With the rest of her body oddly still, as if she was paralyzed, her eyes traveled downwards to the woven material which was also hanging loosely around her neck. It seemed like it fitted there perfectly, as though it was made to hang around her neck.

' _tick… tock… filthy brat… tock…_ '

Her eyes glinted with curiosity. That was a new sound. She immediately decided she didn't like it. It was filled with such hate and cruelty. In fact, maybe it's sounds like that the world needs to get rid of permanently. She twitched then, slowly, her body began to move. A wave of life flooded into her veins as she rose to her feet but it wasn't natural. She felt like the life wasn't hers or even more, not truly life at all. It felt… borrowed. Shakily, she brought her pale hands to see. They were pale, dirty, and covered in a considerable amount of scratches.

' _useless bi… tick… tock…_ '

Her ears perked up at the sound. No, not sound. _Voices_. Manny, with a pang in his chest, left. Things were no longer in his control. He would have to just let fate take it's course and pray that in the future, this child can somehow forgive him. But then again, how can he expect her to forgive him if he can't even forgive himself for what he had to do to the winter child? It was a cruel thing to do, even if everything had worked out in the end. He had been foolish enough to believe that he had to leave the child alone in order for fate to take its twisted course.

' _tick… kill… tock… tick…_ '

Ivory slowly cocked her head to the side as the voices became more distinguished than the clock, and noticeably coming closer. The luminous light that had once filled the dark room was suddenly bleeding away, leaving the empty minded child in it to stare blankly as footsteps approached. Suddenly, the up beat ticking of the clock was dulled in her ears as she focused on the voices. They were much closer now, much clearer than they had been before.

"What do you mean she's dead?!" There was a distant yell of anger from what sounded like an adult man.

There were another pair of footsteps beside the other. "I mean exactly what I just said! I walked in and the little brat was hanging from the ceiling fan!"

It was at that moment, that Ivory, very slowly, tilted her head back. There was a ceiling fan above her with a snapped rope… and there was the rest of that rope around her neck. She brought her head back down, her pupils dilating even smaller than they were before. There was a blank expression on her face. One might of thought she wasn't capable of processing emotion at all at that point. But she was… she was processing in her head and piecing together _exactly_ what had happened in immense and disturbing detail.

And she was _not_ happy…

The shadows of the men were cast on the wall, what used to be a sign for her to run and try to hide or prepare to be beaten. Now… it was a constant reminder of what she went through. She was too angry to be scared but it didn't show on her face. Her expression was cold and emotionless as stone. Two men, about the ages of thirty, with scruff hair walked into the room. The first man's eyes widened in disbelief at the small child's presence.

"But- But I saw her-" He started before seeing the broken rope hanging loosely around her neck.

' _She must not have been dead and then the rope snapped under her weight after I left._ ' He thought before walking up with a serious look.

He snapped out, grasping her wrist and holding her up in the air by it. "You think that was funny, huh?! Do you like causing yourself pain?!"

He expected her to cry out for him to let him go. He expected her to scream in fear or possibly even rebellion. He expected her to curl up in a ball to avoid getting hurt. He expected her to try and push him away. He expected to have a load of fun tonight punishing the little brat for what she pulled. But no… nothing could've prepared him for what she did next. It was something that was definitely _not_ natural. It was something that sent shivers down his spine, and not the pleasant kind either.

' _tick… tock… tick… tock… tick… tock…_ '

His breath hitched in his throat as this child, this abused child, with no family, no love, to happiness, no hope, no fun, no light, no wonder, no faith, no dreams, no memories, no life… suddenly stretched a wide unnatural smile from ear to ear with a maniacal gleam in her eyes. Her eyes… which had turned completely black. That blackness was somehow stretching out of her eyes and dripping down her deathly pale face. There was a look of horror in both the men's eyes as they stared into the merciless maniacal eyes of this child who'd they'd tortured. Karma can be awfully cruel…

' _tick… tock… tick… tock… tick-'_ The clock suddenly stopped.

Nobody heard the choked screams and cries of the two men that night nor did anyone think twice about the two men who suddenly stopped coming to work… and nobody ever would.


	3. The Beginning of a Broken Child

(Author-chan here! I know I haven't updated my things in a long time but I'm getting back into the swing of things ^-^ Expect a more regular posting of chapters, provided my schedule allows it. I'll do my best.)

Girl Fish: Yeah, and let's just say, Pitch's pride is going to come back to haunt him…

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There is a clock ticking. A clock ticking in all of us. Marking our lives and numbering our days. Some people's clock ticks longer than others. Some people's clocks stop ticking before they even are given the common right to experience the world. And then, there are some who's clocks break when their time is up but interviewing hands take it, fixing it back up and making it tick for eternity.

Ivory's dull eyes watched the winter spirit come and go. His clock had broken three hundred years ago but it was messed with, forced to continue ticking until the boy's purpose was served. It's a pathetic fate that no one as young and innocent as he had been should have to go through. Choices aren't something the less powerful have control over, however. She could spend the rest of her existence whining and muttering about her pitiful fate but what could would that do? It would be like talking to a wall.

She delicately handled the fleeting life of an old man who was currently dying of a heart in his sleep, spasming and eyes rolled into the back of his head. He had a good life, she realized as it played before her in flashes and quick memories. He started as a filthy orphan rat on the streets but managed to break away from that at eighteen, getting his strength together and joining the army. The army had whipped him into shape, transformed him from a disrespectful and impulsive teen who'd never had any authority or discipline, into a fine young man who was well mannered, responsible, and ready to take action for his fellow comrades. He'd eventually levelled into a commander, teaching boys like him similar discipline. At age thirty two, after the war was won, he returned to his home town, going to a lovely University where he met his wife, Martha.

The scenes played out before her eyes, but she was more intently focused when it came to that of the children. He had two lovely daughters, one twenty seven and the other nineteen. Grandchildren as well, five of them. All being equally innocent and joyful in their youth, ignorant of the true nature of mankind. Ivory watched loathfully. What wouldn't give to scoop them up in her arms and hide them away, never letting them see the horrors and trails of life. What she wouldn't give…

As the memories got further on, she saw trials. She saw love. She saw bitterness. She saw regret. She saw forgiveness. She saw mending of broken hearts and drying of tears as well as the heartache and cries that came before it. The memories slowed as they came to the more recent ones of his old age. Her eyes left the memories and landed on the man.

He was looking at her. He'd stopped spasming. He was technically on the brink of death but she'd slowed the process so as to watch his life. He looked at her, brown eyes old and sad, holding a bit of pity for the sight he saw before him. He was well aware that his time was up and seemed ready to accept that and yet was silently taken back. No doubt he'd been expecting the form of death to be something much darker. Much more sinister to appear before him… but she was merely a child. This was who death sent before him?

Ivory stared back at him with a hollow look for a long time, knowing what he was thinking, before she spoke. "You have lived a good life, Charles Gordon. Do not be afraid."

Her young voice seemed hollow of emotion yet sincere and put the man in a state of relaxation. He knew his time was up and despite feeling concern for the state and origins of the one pointing him to Heaven's gates, he couldn't dwell on it too long. Her touch made contact with his skin, gently closing his eyelids. It was cold and clammy, as if her skin held no actual life, but comforting all the same. He felt his strength fade away along with his memory, almost as if he was being quickly lulled into a calm and restful slumber.

Charles Gordon. Death November/16/2017 at 2:34 am.

One thing that was quickly noted by passing spirits, was that there was a newcomer. Normally, new spirits were ignored and left to figure things out on their owns. This wasn't the case this time. Not to say they didn't try, mind you, but because this time it was just that difficult. After all, it was hard to ignore the small child who kept an empty gaze, not bothering to speak with anyone. It was hard to ignore the rope hanging loosely around her neck as well as the rope markings that seemed to have been permanently embedded into her pale skinned neck. Her frail thin body, scratched and abused gave away clear signs of starvation prior to passing.

And her glare… Sometimes she'd be caught glaring at thin air, as if she was cursing the existence of everything on the earth. Such a hateful stare was never meant to grace such young eyes.

She spoke once, though it was brief and filled the receiver of her words with uncertainty. Her voice had been as hollow sounding as her eyes looked. Damian Hollows had been the first to speak to her… this meeting did not last long.

"Heya, shortie! You're new, huh?" He had asked one late October day after she'd finished handling the soul of an aborted child. Despite her appearance filling him with a sense of dread, wondering how she came to be that way, he had an easy-going and carefree attitude, ready to tackle whatever was thrown at him.

She merely stopped her walking and turned her head to stare at him. Her eyes seemed to be clouded with something he could not describe, only that it made him uneasy. That was saying something too, given his position. He hadn't been able to find the words to speak because her stare had been that upsetting. It was almost as if she was staring into the depths of his soul, analyzing it and judging him.

Finally, in a clear and eerily serious tone, she replied, "Your time is not up yet."

With that, she'd continued walking, leaving the spirit of Halloween behind, standing there silently and pondering what he'd just been told with a disturbed expression.


End file.
